


真鍮の花弁 |||Byzantine Omniscience|||

by ChocolateCarnival



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clan Culture, Dark Eroticism, Dark elements, F/M, First Time, Het, Immortality, Married Couple, One Shot, Possessive Uchiha Madara, Possible Start of a Series of One-Shots, Sensuality, Shy Hinata Hyuuga, Smut, possibility for continuation, 真鍮の花弁 - Shinchu no Hanabira - Brass Petals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27410344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateCarnival/pseuds/ChocolateCarnival
Summary: “Like petals she flowered, shined of silver and brass and gold in the
        circle of his arms. For eternity, he swore to claim her as his.”Uchiha Madara never did things by half, even the claiming of his shy
    goddess was intended to sear his love for her into eternity and brand her
    possessively as his. The world would burn at his feet before he gave up the
    sweetness of her own possession upon him.
Relationships: Hyuuga Hinata/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 13
Kudos: 61





	真鍮の花弁 |||Byzantine Omniscience|||

**Author's Note:**

> *Clears throat and blushes* This was just an excuse to get my mindset back into writing lemons since I have some ongoing fics that'll eventually end up there. Plus, it's been more than 6 years since I wrote het lemons. It was a challange to bring myself back into the fold. 
> 
> There two are also my second favourite pairing behind SasuHina. Either way, I have a SasuHina plot bunny swirling in the back of my mind somewhere too. As a oneshot. But first, I'll be getting back to a round of updates on my other stories. 
> 
> This may be the start of a series of One-shots entitled 真鍮の花弁 - Shinchu no Hanabira - Brass Petals with Uchiha Madara x Hinata Hyuuga and Uchiha Sasuke x Hinata Hyuuga pairings. 
> 
> I just wanted to finish this one to feel accomplished and as if I managed to do something lately. 
> 
> I do hope this in enjoyable.

真鍮の花 弁 |||Byzantine Omniscience||| 

最初 の 舞: 藤 

  


Fractured like a crag in the abyss, his dark solemnity violently pierced the subterranean rockface. The intricate cave system enclosed deep inside Konohagakura’s rolling mountainscape, tremored frenetically at the undeniable push of godlike chakra. Its architect, sanctified and several centuries resurrected, mindlessly wandered the stalactite maze shaped by the touch of his immortal hand. 

The shinobi world was teeming with unfailing pandemonium above, the most powerful being to currently walk the earth choosing to leave the Village of the Leaf to its coming fate rather than cross its accursed borders. His boiling hatred for the system he created, so savagely twisted by the hand of the Nidaime and Sandaime Hokage, was more than enough to warrant Fire Country’s self-imposed destruction. 

Uchiha Madara did not have time to play avenger for his Clan. No, that title belonged to his youngest descendant. Little Sasuke could pursue their kin-slayer and take a step closer to obtaining power similar to what reverberated his ancestor’s bones. Not that it would be an easy prowess to attain, the godlike shinobi mused. 

Wielding the _Mangeky_ _ō_ _Sharingan_ was a double-edged sword and seeking the immortal benefits of its Eternal counterpart—. Well, the encompassing sacrifice its activation required was more than enough to shatter the mind of even the strongest Uchiha. 

No, Uchiha Madara — 斑 — with mottled soul and imperial mind as his name implied, was content enough to live atop the bifurcated madness carved inside his subterranean gaol. He had finally been joined by a single pinprick of light several years before, a soothing ray of moonlight he benevolently basked in whenever the mood struck. 

Like a forgotten deity of the _stars_ rising to accompany his _midnight sun_ , _she_ ascended the world amidst spiralling spring rain and honied, empyrean, darkness. She embodied the enchanting fragrance of wildly blossoming wisteria, winter frosted cold and moondust tranquillity. Though uncertain, in the beginning, of her unexpected find in the subterrane dusk, silken fingertips never once hesitated in healing the Patriarch the moment she realized his straining sight. 

Her _Byakugan_ , like the whisper of a butterfly wing on the night wind, had guided tender pinpricks of chakra deep inside unique Samsara eyes to repair centuries of dōjutsu damage. Though sixteen at the time of their first meeting, the Hyūga Princess’ visits continued to increase in length over the years until one day she simply refused to leave. 

Madara never asked why she chose him, why she chose to _stay_ …he was more than content enough to allow her equal share in his home as long as she kept his presence secret from the political pandemonium above. There was no need to give those power-hungry sycophants reason to enslave the near extinct Uchiha bloodline. Nor eliminate his existence simply because they feared his divine power. 

_Not_ that a single shinobi remotely possessed the skill to send him to his grave, the Rinnegan Master mused. Time and a sense of mindless military laxness had dwindled the prodigious skill many a warrior was prompted to rise to during his prime. The former Clan Lord was fine living here, in the stalactite madness, with his beautiful _Uchiha_ Bride. 

Listening intently to the melodic, starlight, ballad the luminescent Matriarch hummed to herself as she knelt on the floor preparing tea — coaxed hooded Rinnegan orbs to cycle down from a fierce violet Samsara to sanguine Eternal Mangekyō. Soon the spiralling pattern receded to reveal flawless Uchiha black. 

Marigold embers continued to splutter and spit in the fiery preparation pit, several accompanying torches intermittently reflecting writhing shadows on uneven walls as the Patriarch settled himself behind a low oak table. The vast ebony surface was strewn with ancient scroll and dripping ink, centuries of Clan history piled in disordered circles around him. 

Madara had not aged a day passed his resurrected age, the thirty-seven years of his first life weaving whispers of elegant time on handsome features as he leaned a stoic cheek on the palm of his gloved hand. Feral obsidian tresses, seeming to drink its very hue from the abyss; tumbling in spiked waves on the tatami floor behind him. 

Without his regal armour and crossed arms, the Uchiha Lord was only marginally less daunting than his usual self. He was relaxing into the touch of a silken _zabuton,_ his elbow coming to rest against a hand-hewn _ky_ _ō_ _soku_ as he propped up a languid knee. Emotionally darkened eyes instinctively drew themselves towards the luxurious folding screen partially concealing their marriage bed from sight. 

He had pilfered the traditionally hewn furniture from his Clan over the centuries, the cherry, ebony and oak pieces artfully but sporadically decorating the couple’s moderate living space. Madara had made sure to collect the riches his once-upon-a-time status afforded, even though the Lord had yet to emerge from his stalactite void to claim his rightful title. 

What use was there in traipsing Konoha politics with only four remaining clan members, after all? His newly married nineteen-year-old wife was a Hyūga by birth. He was the long supposed-to-be-dead Patriarch and his remaining clansmen were two S-Class missing nin that defected from _Konohagakura_ within years of each other. 

It was—. 

“Would my Lord like some honey with your tea?” A delicate whisper interrupted his thoughts, the former Clan Head pulling himself to an imposing hundred-and-eighty-six-centimetre height as he languidly made his way towards his young wife. They had only been married for a few months so far, their union yet to be consummated beyond a sharing of tri-tasted sake cups and whispers of yearning desire. 

Yet, he was determined to remain patient. 

There was a feral smile ticking up the corner of pale lips, the Patriarch’s formerly dark expression teasing the traditional high-collar of his Clan attire. 

Hinata, his little patch of sunshine, was the sweetest creature he had ever come across. The beautifully blossoming _moon_ could read his moods better than his brother centuries before, understand his mind better than he himself did and even spin enough tranquillity to calm his inherently fiery nature with her water-like serenity. 

Despite the flickering unease he sometimes caught within large, opalescent eyes; Madara knew Hinata would never betray him. Those priceless iolite fragments observed him timidly even now, watching with a rosy bloom of desire as Madara disentangled the large _gunbai_ bound to his back. The clink of his _kusarigama_ no longer startled her as much as it had in the beginning, the menacing meter-and-a-half scythe carefully suspended in the mounted weapons’ rack across from them as he moved to kneel in the _mizuya_ beside her. 

Delicate fingers continued their elegant dance of preparation, a fragrant sakura-maccha whisked with prickling honey sweetness as a crackle of persimmon flame undulated gracefully across moonlit pale skin. Hyūga Hinata was a breathtaking creature immersed in the hues of _his_ element, her impossibly long stratos-blue locks filamented with threads of spinel-gold and starlight flame. 

With three delicately chained _senbon_ used to subduethe thigh-length coil atop her head, he carefully brushed aside blue bangs that had long since lost their blunted cut. Pale cheeks, round and sweet, alighted with a fond smile the moment he brought their foreheads together in a tender caress. 

“Not too sweet.” He warned, a growing need to bury himself in her feminine warmth brushing the tip of his nose against the soft skin behind her ear. “I’ve never been too fond of honey. This time, I’ll make an exception.” 

Their slow growing intimacy had been fanned by Hinata’s increasingly bolder yearning over the past month. Though Madara still decided to wait until his wife was ready to come to him, the two of them had been locked in an intoxicating battle of barely concealed arousal and hesitant uncertainty for far too long. 

The Uchiha Patriarch did not wish to plunge the nineteen-year-old into a world of sexual carnality when her painfully shy nature still struggled with the idea of sensual intimacy in the marriage bed. Hinata was almost too innocent, one of the main reasons the thirty-seven-year-old feared she may balk at satisfying the more primal part of a man’s vices. 

Hailing from a fire clan was crippling in situations such as these, he considered. Self-control did not come easy when one’s elemental affinity was rooted in ashen destruction and desperately coiling flame. For Madara, who was far more at home with the blistering passion than the rest of his Clan, it was a slow, losing, battle. 

The Patriarch was _nothing_ if not a man driven by desire. Coupled with Hinata’s innocent yet unknowing advances — tracing delicate fingertips across his gloved palm, clinging to the warmth of his back at night, sleeping peacefully by his side or adorning her vivacious curves in the deep azures and blacks of his Clan — was more than enough to drive him absolutely mad. 

He _endured_. 

Uchiha Madara may have been known as a madman on the battlefield, a demon cutting down swathes of enemies, a god draped in impossible power—. Yet, privately he was still the boy his mother raised as a respectable Clan Head. 

“I-I have made some i-inarizushi for you, Madara-sama. If you will—.” 

“Hn.” The older shinobi smiled, pleased his shy little goddess had gone out of her way to make his favourite. Removing black gloves from elegant fingertips with a tug of feral teeth, a brief kiss of appreciation tickled the rosy softness of peony-silk lips. 

The chaste peck blossomed a delicate flush across Hinata’s small, pearl, nose. The shy kunoichi was clearly pleased with the flicker of pleasure enlivening her husband’s usually stoic features. She, herself, shifting forward with a sliver of growing impatience. The wide sleeves of her ankle-length tunic, bluer than Madara’s own and boldly emblazoned with the Uchiha crest on the back, fell forward to conceal timidly fidgeting fingertips. 

“Madara,” she smiled in what she hoped was an enticing manner. 

The Uchiha Patriarch cut an imposing pillar of power next to her, rumbling contentedly in approval as he made his way through a plate of snacks and mildly sweet tea. The husky reverberation of his voice trickled down the dip of her spine like liquid promise, sending shivers of dark yearning across the curve of her belly as the nineteen-year-old pushed aside years of Hyūga conditioning to mould herself more boldly to his side. 

Hinata may have come across this enigma of a man by accident a few years ago. Yet, even she had no idea the profundity of love their meeting would carve inside her soul. Enough so that she left her Clan, her duty as a shinobi, her friends and vanished deep inside Konohagakura’s sacred stalagmite maze just to be with him. 

He drew her like a moth to a flame, igniting the inexplicable depths of her soul as she revelled in the sensation of bronze fingertips, soaked in his natural warmth, briefly tracing the curve of her back. The young woman could not help but discreetly flicker yearning eyes towards the traditional folding screen concealing their marital bed from sight. 

She had laid out it deliberately early that day, her heart racing with growing anticipation as she watched a soft, oil-candle, illumination creep across beautifully embroidered sheets. The entire room was drenched in Madara’s petrichor-ash scent, rising enticingly from feral hip-length strands and burning-hot skin. 

It rose like a promise around her, enveloping her rousing senses in concentrated lust. Hinata had finally made up her mind to sever the last defence erected so frustratingly between them. She had promised herself to this man before the gods of his Clan after all, before the gods of her own. All that was left, was for them to tie themselves mind, body and soul. 

Glancing bashfully from beneath the curl of long lashes, luscious pink lips nibbled distractedly on the last of her _tofu_ treat before she turned milky-ametrine orbs toward her husband’s onyx depths. She was sure those eyes had already deciphered her intent the moment he stepped inside the room. 

Whether he wielded the _Sharingan_ , _Rinnegan_ or _nothing_ …Uchiha Madara overlooked absolutely no detail. 

“So shy, my wife.” The Patriarch growled appreciatively, a slow-acting heat seeming to infuse the air around them as onyx orbs clouded with rousing red. A flicker of the _Sharingan_ seemed to pin the small kunoichi in place, a lop-sided smirk enlivening partially concealed features as a quiet squeak reverberated from Hinata the moment he used his tongue to consume a grain of rice clinging to her corner of her lips. 

For Madara, the temptation to devour her very soul in that moment was strong, his mind absolutely reeling with centuries of unsatisfied ardor as a sinuous frame shyly mounted his lap. The determined but shy press of her lips against the corner of his brow, fluttering to caress the tip of his nose, lips before settling against the sensitive skin just below his jaw, abruptly shattered the last of his control. 

A heady fervour was filling the depths of the older shinobi’s veins, the dark-haired warrior boldly fisting long fingers in the back of her tunic as he caged her tightly in the circle of his arms. He wouldn’t let go, not even if Hashirama decided to rise from the dead or the Hokage levelled that accursed village of his own free will. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, woman.” He strained, voice heavy and encumbered with a steadily building need. “Come, Hinata. I’ll fulfil your every desire just as you will fulfil mine.” The smirk curling the corner of the Uchiha’s lips was absolutely devastating, bold hands standing them up in the _fire-heat-chaos_ of his swiftly unravelling chakra. 

Encompassing delicate fingers with his own, Madara impatiently lead them behind a beautiful indigo-gold folding screen. After having his patience tested for so long, he was unsure if his mind was functioning entirely rationally at the moment. Hinata, his skittish little moon goddess, followed obediently behind him with coiling anticipation. 

Closer and closer they drifted, the god-like shinobi unable to conceal the fierce heat consuming his very soul as she twisted delicate fingers in the back of his tunic and moulded her frame to his. The voluptuousness of her curves was enticingly soft, an answering water-like humidity winding and unwinding the glowing steam his ragging chakra demanded in release. 

Oh…he would _mark_ her, Madara swore. He would make her _his_ so wholly and completely she would never forget the feel or taste of him. Never want to part from the scorching heat he’d use to consume her from the inside our or escape the carnal brand tattooed between her creamy white thighs—. 

* * * * 

Their inner-sanctum was lit by the hitch and splutter of several tradition oil-candles, the one stem candelabra placed strategically close to the corners of their marital bed as it illuminated a beautifully embroidered white surface. It was here that Madara guided his wife to kneel before him, a feral growl following her graceful descent as he watched a timid rose rise to engulf softly rounded cheeks. 

“Look at me, Hinata.” The dark-haired shinobi commanded, the demon of the Uchiha Clan unable to resist the softness of her lips or the determined fingertips twining frustratedly in the hip-length strands of his hair. Those faded-ametrine mirrors were pinning him with a boldly rising ardor, seeking to drink the very fettered fire from his lips as she coaxed the seam of her mouth to cross with his own. 

She tasted of early spring rain and glittering starlight, an incessant press prying the young kunoichi’s mouth apart with his tongue as he impatiently grasped the decorative _senbon_ twined in the twist of her hair. An expert flick of his wrist launched the miniscule arms aside, poison-tipped steel embedding itself deep inside the unyielding stone wall. 

Galaxy-blue locks flowed like a deluge of silk in response, spherulitic strands dripping evocatively on white, downy, sheets as her small, enticing, frame — arching supine in surprise — shattered the last of Madara’s resolve. Prompting a scorching tongue to twine evocatively with her own, the dark-haired shinobi gorged himself on the _taste_ of her, the _feel_ of her, the scent of her, the rousing _need_ for her—. 

Folding possessive arms in the dip of her spine to imprison her against him; the small, echoing, gasp of her pleasure spiralled his desire impossibly higher. He was chasing after the intoxicating blend of fire and ice and saliva saturating the seal of their lips, chipping away at the last of his control as a blistering need to claim ignited deep within his soul. 

This may not have been the first time they kissed like this, the Patriarch thought. But it _was_ the first time he had no intention of stopping or offering his wife a chance to weave distance between them. 

_No,_ he would finally have her as _his._

Half-lidded _Sharingan_ orbs seared the image of her surprised rapture in the back of his eyelids, coal black lashes fluttering indolently at his touch as his bare palm glided over the voluptuous curve of her hips. Tugging impatiently at the back of her byzantine obi caused a quiet gasp to pull her from him in surprise, the pooling wetness of their kiss spanning a diamond string of saliva between them as she mortifyingly buried her cheeks in the side of his neck. 

“M-Madara!” It was always a pleasure to see his wife bedecked in the style and cut of his Clan, a reverberating growl of approval building low in the back of his throat as grasping fingertips shackled delicate wrists against downy-white sheets. He lowered his head to engage her another heady entanglement of tongues, the salacious kiss unbearably hot and sweet and _so_ good that she _moaned_ openly against the slick of his lips. 

“Nnngh—!” Nimble fingers were undoing the wide obi cinched around her waist, impatiently fiddling with hidden ties before frustratedly snapping an array of buttons so boldly enclosing her from his sight. Bowing low to enclose them in a feral tumble of midnight locks, he rose up predatorily the moment a small hand wormed itself from his grasp to cup his cheek. 

“L-Lord Husband…I—.” 

“I know,” The Uchiha Lord rumbled affectionately, resting his forehead against hers for a brief moment of reprieve before pulling away to part her calf-length tunic with a searching palm. A surprised inhalation titillated the little Hyūga’s lungs in response, passionately spinning _Sharingan_ orbs obsessively tracking the needy flush of desire dripping evocatively down the hollow of her throat, arching across bowing shoulders before slipped generously low across heaving breasts. 

Though still partially hidden beneath standard white bindings, Madara could see the lavish swell of her chest and hips. His wife may have lacked the natural fierceness and wiry flatness woven into standard kunoichi these days, yet the natural grace of her starlit pale skin, wide childbearing hips and softly curved belly made it difficult to draw his attention away from the ravishing sight spread before him. 

He had always known his wife would be a goddess the moment he laid his eyes on her, yet observing her flushed and heated with need, nearly naked, _squirming_ beneath his crimson gaze was another matter entirely. The Uchiha Patriarch was impatiently dragging form-fitted leggings down her hips, chuckling darkly at the indigent squeak echoing in his ears before he impatiently flung the offending fabric over his shoulder. 

“Kami but you are beautiful,” He murmured, leaning back on his thighs to better observe the ethereal expanse of her skin. He stalked forward like a demon, a heady prowess pinning the newly anointed Uchiha Matriarch against embroidered white silk as he marvelled at the emboldening ardor enlivening the flush of her cheeks. 

Large palms were eagerly exploring the curve of her waist, impatient fingertips searching recklessly beneath his pillow for something sharp to help him get rid of the last two barriers sealing her beautiful body from sight. 

Hinata may have been inherently shy her whole life, but for _him_ she was willing to swallow the near-crippling mortification to pursue the low-searing heat radiating so dizzyingly from the pit of her stomach. Her thighs were already rubbing together in a deep, unsated, need; a whimpering cry cycling from depth of her throat as nipping teeth tugged mercilessly at the curve her shoulder. 

“Madara!” She yelped, startled by the strange, twisted, sense of pleasure it flowered beneath her skin. She was clinging desperately to powerful shoulders, the soft but teasing tickle of his wild black mane bowing her chest against him as a searing tongue peaked out to soothe the obvious mark of possession he sucked into her flesh. 

Within the curtain of the abyss that descended so evocatively between them, she was slowly but surely unwinding the fetters holding her back. The burning fire low in her belly was driving her insane with sensations she had never felt before, never dreamed was possible to experience or feel—. 

“You are not attached to those bindings are you, love?” The Patriarch murmured teasingly, smirking against the skin of her shoulder when he received a confused shake of his wife’s head. “Good. Then don’t move.” Like lighting he struck, a flash of iron and steel flimmering in the oil-candle light as he expertly severed the white material with the tip of his kunai _._

The fact that he impatiently dissected her panties as well awakened an uncharacteristic glare in fiery violet eyes. Hinata had always known her husband could be impatient when he wanted, but that did not give him the right to ruin a perfectly good pair of lace. And what was worse, was the embarrassed shiver coiling like poison down the dip of her spine. She was completely bare before him, impatient hands tugging the ruined fabric from beneath her back and hips before he simply sat back to admire the spread of her naked flesh. 

“Hn.” He smirked. 

“Beautiful.” Before Hinata could rise a single protest against him, the black-haired shinobi dragged the top of his uniform over his head. The heavy fabric was discarded just as quickly as hers had been, bronze skin rippling in the golden candlelight as he bowed forward to wet his lips against the peak of her breast. The petal-like areola was the same peony as her lips, soft and swollen and needy before hardening on the tip of his tongue as revelled in the pillowy sensation cupping the other in his palm. 

_Kami_ , she felt good. All supple skin, malleable silken breasts, quiet gasps, sighing cries entwined with sweetly reverberating moans and delirious sensitivity. He had barely started but she was already squirming beneath him, her thighs clenching and unclenching with a silent plea to have him between them as a haunting honey-bitter scent rose in the air around him. 

He _knew_ that fragrance, it was drawing the feral fire of his affinity to surface with the knowledge that she yearned for him just as much as he yearned for her. 

“Fuck!” Madara swore, licking his lips to break the slickness fusing him to alternating pink nipples as he pressed a desperate palm against his own arousal to momentarily distract himself from the need to burry himself inside her. A heady shudder was crawling its way down his spine the moment curious fingers rose to explore his bare chest, a stray nail accidentally scraping the skin of his nipple as a deep, feral, lust darkened spiralling red eyes. 

Three tamoes were rotating wildly with anticipation, his patience swiftly running out as he leaned over her once more to drag them into a searing kiss. He was stimulating hypersensitized skin with calloused fingertips, her ethereal beauty trembling desperately against him as he finally pushed his palm to invade squirming thighs. 

“Open for me, Hinata.” His dark voice was dripping sensuality like smoke, the dark purr spreading a blistering heat across the tip of her nose as she shivered at the pad of his thumb slipping forcefully between her thighs a few inches below her sex. The Uchiha Bride was panting in momentary flash of fear and dark anticipation, mind spinning from the sensations he roused so effortlessly inside her as she shyly forced herself to obey. 

The former Hyūga couldn’t deny her own curiosity and yearning anymore, she wanted to feel more of this consuming fire, heat, wetness…completeness that he elicited with his every touch—. 

“Good girl.” The Uchiha Patriarch praised; lust darkened eyes instantly drawn to the neat path of stratos curls situated above her sex. In the flimmering candlelight, he watched transfixed as crystalline dew drops traced the skin of her thighs drop for delicate drop the moment she parted her thighs. She was dripping…she was fucking _dripping_ for him and he’d barely touched her! 

The Patriarch groaned in response, laying forehead against the curve of her breast for a brief moment to collect himself as he parted her thighs to settled himself between them. He had always been a prideful man, a series of soothing kisses peppering moonlit pale skin as he anxiously made his way down her stomach, drinking up honey-bitter dew drops from the skin of thighs before coaxing a clarion cry from peony-pink lips the moment he parted delicate folds with the tip of his tongue. She was practically throbbing in her desire for _him_ , arching seductively in surprised pleasure as he hummed in quiet delight at her restless desire and nervousness. 

“You’ve been anticipating this the whole day, haven’t you?” He questioned rather rhetorically, knowing the answer simply by the delightful taste he drank from her soaking folds as he revelled in the embarrassed flush spreading all the way from her neck to her chest. 

“Hnngh! M-Madara! M-M-Madara! I—.” He chuckled at her wordless pleas, desperate fingertips grasping at the thigh-length strands of his hair to either push him away in protest or pull him closer to her in desire. He didn’t yield his slow claiming of her though, expertly teasing the fragrant folds of her sex and precious little pearl until she had no choice but to surrender herself to him. 

“Just relax.” The murmur of his voice sent shivers colliding deep in her consciousness, the luscious clenching and unclenching of something _slick_ and _warm_ and _wonderful_ and _feel’s-so-good_ left the nineteen-year-old reaching blindly for the stars of something she had never experienced before. It left her breathless and panting, whining… _sobbing._

Delicate fingers were pulling at the wild mane of her husband’s hair, rocking mindlessly into the curl and twist of tongue and teeth as he played her like an expert. The ambience of her cries were spiralling higher and higher…faster…hitching with the unbearable but euphoric flood of endorphins that curled her toes and mortifyingly clenched her thighs around his head. 

Hinata didn’t want to think, she didn’t want to breathe. She merely let his low reverberating chuckles spill inside her like his wickedly playing tongue as he drove her mercilessly to the brink of insanity. And when she felt the last of her earthly fetters snap, her universe exploded in an orgasmic flash that left her reeling and falling into a breathless satisfaction that was both _everything_ and yet _not enough_. 

A deep animalistic insatiability pulled the Uchiha up by his hair, swiping the very smirk from his lips as she desperately plundered his mouth in sheer desperation for more. Her body and limbs may have been momentarily sated, yet inside she was yearning for something more…something ancient and inexplicable and eternally binding. 

“Did it feel good, Hinata? Your first orgasm?” The usually shy Uchiha Bride was nodding breathlessly against the side of her husband’s neck, the bitter taste of herself lingering on the tip of her tongue as strong arms pressed her firmly against him. Her legs were lasciviously parting to welcome him closer, bowing enticingly around his waist as a distinctly, clothed, hardness pressed intimately against her sex. 

“What is it that you desire?” The rapid rise and fall of her chest moulded itself sensually to his, beautifully pink nipples scraping enticingly against his flesh as a chaste peck caressed the curve of her brow to calm the rising chaos of the coming storm. A stuttered gasp was pleading anxiously for more, the Patriarch ridding himself of the last clothed barrier separating him from her before he rubbed his bare erection against the silken fold of her desire. 

A needy groan was parting his lips before he could bite it back, pleasant shivers of anticipation tickling the searing heat of his skin as manicured fingertips clawed desperately at the bow of shoulders and twisted painfully in his hair. 

“Please…please…please,” His beautiful goddess chanted for him, a waterfall of indigo ink spread like a pool beneath her as she threw her head back against a downy pillow the moment the head of his arousal slid over her sensitive pearl calling for him in need. He was drawing a shaky inhalation to prepare himself for what was to come, a brief flash of guilt momentarily stilling his fiery passion so he could breathe a quiet warning. 

“It’ll hurt at first,” He crooned, the tip of his arousal sliding enticingly in search of the clenching slit swelling and weeping for his touch. “I promise it’ll feel good after a while.” His words were no lie, a devilish smirk tugging at the corner of pale lips as he leaned forward to enclose them in a curtain of ebony black. 

“I’ll make your previous trip to heaven seem tame in comparison.” The promise seeped like sensual poison from pale lips. Madara had always known himself to be a selfish man, wanting nothing more than his cock to brand her insides for her first time. The wild abandon of his nature and sheer possessiveness may cause her some discomfort in the end, but he meant every word he said. 

He’d show his little wife just what it felt like to be owned by him. 

At her hesitant but assenting nod, he swiftly severed the chain of control wound so tightly around his soul. His hips surged forward, a ringing scream shattering the sensually charged air as an uncharacteristically blissful moan announced his initial claiming of her. She was intoxicatingly tight around him, her inherent slickness gliding him deeper and deeper despite the spiralling scent of blood accompanying the petrichor ash of his desire and sweat. 

“Hinata!” He strained. “Breathe.” She obeyed, breathing a shaky exhale against his chest where she buried her streaming tears from his sight. He couldn’t take it anymore, Sharingan red spinning into a fierce Samsara violet as his chakra regulation twisted and twined rapturously with hers. For shinobi to lose such damning control over themselves during sex was considered taboo, yet Uchiha Madara had no desire to pull back and calm himself. 

And to his surprise, his darling wife was boldly meeting his blisteringly fire chakra with her cool waterfall deluge. It was rousing the delicate veins protruding on her temples in response, the Byakugan colliding heatedly with an answering Rinnegan as they both laboured and strained to await her first waves of pain to subside. It didn’t take long until her pleasure-roughened voice called out to him for more. Her impossible vice like grip pushing him back before coaxing his length back inside with several, slow, experimental thrusts. 

“M-Madara!” She moaned, her inherent shyness forgotten in the slow build of rapture as she twined her fingers in the hip-length spikes of his hair and pulled his face closer to seal her tongue with his. The Patriarch could trace her intensifying shivers with his every quickening glide inside her, a series of groans and grunts illuminating the rapturous pleasure he himself was feeling as she finally let go and surrendered herself to instinct. 

Their bodies writhed and met in the flickering oil-candle light, starlight goddess against her midnight sun god as they danced to a sensual rhythm pressing heaving breasts against his strong chest. He was caging her possessively against him, her thighs tightening breathlessly around his hips as she met him thrust for thrust. 

The shift in position as he pulled her bodily against him elicited another clarion cry from her lips as his erection buried itself mercilessly against the opening of her cervix. The unexpected spike of pain was both shudderingly full and filthily lewd in the back of her mind. Though, it did nothing to stop her from following Madara’s quickening rhythm or asking him to stop. 

No, Hinata wanted _more._

The Uchiha Patriarch was determinedly making good on his promise to her, chasing her pleasure higher and fuller and tighter than she ever felt before. It was dizzying sweet and earth shattering at the same time, her nails trailing tracks of fire down his back as every colliding thrust stole the very breath from her lungs. 

Madara could feel his own peak rising like a tide deep inside him, threatening to shatter the world around him as she quivered and shook around him. His mind was silencing itself in the background, dancing with the beauty of her arching back and bouncing breasts the moment she lost control of herself. 

Her orgasm shattered around him in wringing surprise, echoing a gasp deep in the back of his throat as he mercilessly penetrated his way through it in order to keep her pivoting in that quivering high for longer. He was shivering at the feel of her pleasure dripping down his thighs, an answering howl piercing the air as sunk his teeth into the delicate skin of her neck he too let go. 

Madara shuddered, breaking and reshaping her to his pleasure as gold-hued skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. The release rushed from him like a tide, pearly white semen marking the untouched interior of her womb as the call of her name slipped like a prayer from his lips. 

He didn’t want to withdraw or escape the milking vice of her sex, no he was determined to sear himself permanently inside her. 

How long they lay twined in the shared high of their climax he couldn’t tell, yet he knew he was far from sated. With such a beautiful goddess writhing in his arms, the tears of her pleasure tickling his tongue as he lapped at them with a loving tenderness, what self-respecting god would be? 

_No,_ Uchiha Madara was far from done. His possessive love was a brand he intended to sear in her skin until his Matriarch could do nothing but drip in desire for him all day…every day…for eternity. 

* * * * 

The drifting cinders of a midnight moon was settling low on the Konoha mountain range, an echoing deluge of water resounding restlessly in the wind as the Valley of the End rose like a tomb above hallowed ground. The Uchiha Patriarch occasionally left his subterranean maze to drink in the darkness and despair carved into the place of his initial death. 

It was here that he reminded himself of the once dark desolation carved inside soul, the resounding hatred and despair he survived before finding his darling wife. With the sky heavy and encumbered, a dense river of stars spread infinitely above as Uchiha black eyes fluttered shut to drink in a familiar frozen stardust and wisteria scent. 

Like the atavistic hedonist he was, the godlike Shinobi reclined defiantly atop of his own carved likeness. The towering stone structure he resided on was a silent accompaniment to the gentle fingertips splayed against the side of his temples, flickers of tranquil chakra sliding inside the cluster of coils and nerves surrounding hypersensitive eyes. 

“You’ve e-exhausted yourself again, M-Madara. You shouldn’t do that when I’m not around to heal you.” The Uchiha Matriarch stuttered sternly; the back of her husband’s head laid comfortably against her thigh as he breathed a contented sigh at her healing touch. 

“Hn.” He rumbled noncommittally, refusing to comment on the darkness and despair that sometimes drove him outside. There were days he simply had to cut through the restraint holding him back, to test his fighting prowess against a series of equally matched clones to refine his dōjutsu and chakra techniques. 

Though he doubted it was really needed, he could not quite cast the driving force to protect the pitiful remains of his Clan aside. It was his duty as the Patriarch to shield and protect. 

And with the tiny pinprick of otherworldly chakra sparking within his wife’s belly, drinking power from the both of them, he had more to lose than he ever thought he’d get the chance to. The Uchiha Clan Head smiled softly in response, leaning into soft fingertips tracing the elegant creases of age settled beneath his lower lids. 

The accompanying hand soon carded shoulder length bangs away from the left side of his face to better observe him. He made no move to interrupt her musings, spreading his senses to encompass the spiralling miles of the Valley in search of the prickling chakra he had felt slowly but surely stalking them for the past few days. 

Well, stalking wasn’t the right word. Madara had deliberately been laying breadcrumbs to lead the stray towards them. His little Hinata had also unknowingly been stoking the shinobi’s curiosity by appearing in random villages away from Konoha with a familiar insignia branded on her back. 

Though done unknowingly as she shopped for their supplies as close to but far enough away from home to not be caught, she unwittingly added to the trail of chakra he laid possessively around her. 

If there was one thing a warrior couldn’t miss, it was the fathomless traces a _Susanoo_ user marking his claim. 

With the pandemonium of a building war once more escalating tensions above the surface, Uchiha Madara decided he had enough of watching his Clan supressed in the darkness. He was preparing himself to make a stand for his rightful throne, twisting himself in his lovely bride’s grasp to press his nose against a soft lavender-clothed stomach. In their home she may dress herself for him, yet out here she was always ready for conflict. 

The soft wisteria hue of her formfitting sweater was accentuated by the black obi wound around her waist, a pouch of medical supplies and weapons resting against the dip of her spine as a creamy flash of thighs peaked out from the gap below impossibly short shorts and thigh-high stockings. 

“We’ll have company, soon.” He murmured, shivering briefly at the careful scrape of nails soothing his scalp. He was melting shamelessly into the touch, awed by the ethereal glow of her skin ignited by starlight as she chuckled at his childlike need for affection. No one would ever know the legendary demon of the Uchiha Clan was like a puppy when scratched in just the right way, a groan escaping the curve of his lips as he reluctantly untangled himself from her grasp. 

“Y-you’ve been up to s-something, haven’t you?” The elegant quirk of her brow coaxed a chuckle from his throat, the Patriarch rising to his feet as he cast a knowing look at the softness of her belly. It was still too early for her to show, but they were both intimately aware of the precious jewel slowly but surely taking root there. 

“I’m tired of the infamy and darkness associated with our Clan,” He breathed sincerely, head tipped back to observe the silver monolith in the sky as the wind tugged at waist-length onyx locks. With a towering gunbai in his left palm, armourless but still proud, the Uchiha grinned manically at the flicker of familial chakra alighting the head of the statue opposite them. 

“I’ve decided to restore the Uchiha to its former glory. And with it, we’ll welcome back the last of our Clan.” 

“With war or destruction or vengeance. Isn’t that right, Sasuke?” 

* * * * 

真鍮の花弁 - Shinchu no Hanabira - Brass Petals  
最初 の 舞: 藤 - Saishi no Mae: Fuji - First Dance: Wisteria

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If I can beg for a tiny little review, I would greatly appreciate it! It'll work wonders for my failing confidence in relation to writing lemons again. 
> 
> But thank you for your time! I appreciate it. If you wish to discuss plot or questions, I'm always willing to answer any you have. 
> 
> On to the next update, then. Whilst I still have the time. :)


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